by Anna Edwards
Jesus. This wasn’t me. I didn’t let men dictate my success. Why was this one so different? Why couldn’t I just be myself around him?
“Unbelievable,” he muttered, stepping away from me. “Don’t make me come find you, Carmichael. You will not like the consequences.”
The words were spoken over his shoulder and punctuated by the slamming of the bathroom door off the living area.
Right.
Yeah.
I needed to pull my shit together and stop letting this ridiculous crush render me stupid. He misunderstood my every intention. I wasn’t trying to ignore him. Quite the opposite—I couldn’t not ignore him. And when he riled me up, I lost my ability to speak.
Dating had never been a priority in school. Nor had it really been a desire. I studied. I worked hard. I graduated with honors from both my Ivy League undergraduate and master’s programs. And I accepted a highly coveted analytical position with the government right after. I excelled at everything I did.
Except this.
No one had prepared me to handle Gideon Chase or these completely inappropriate feelings for him. The dreams. The obsession. The days of longing where I created opportunities just to catch a glimpse of him in the office.
I hated him for it, blamed him for the attraction, when, in reality, it was my own weakness. One I couldn’t seem to battle to save my life.
But I wanted to know him, to learn why he preferred a life of solitary missions, to hear his real story, to learn more about his background.
This went so much deeper than a superficial level. I wanted him, the man. And he despised my very existence. An issue I obviously wasn’t going to fix during this mission if I kept finding myself tongue-tied and annoyed around him.
A knock at the door derailed my musings, our breakfast arriving. I mutely gestured to the table near our en suite kitchen and went back to my room to find a few dollars in my purse to tip the guy. He gave me a nod of appreciation and left just as Gideon returned to the living area with a towel wrapped low around his hips.
“I need my clothes,” he explained as he stalked over to his suitcase.
My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth as he bent to rummage through his things. A maze of scars adorned his entire side, weaving a web of intricate layers across solid muscle. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on the man, which he further proved when he stood up straight, his abdominal muscles rippling. He even had those little divots by his hips that made girls stupid.
Girls like me.
Because I couldn’t stop staring, even as he narrowed his gaze.
“Yeah, it serves as a good lesson as to what can happen when you get cocky and don’t pay attention,” he said flatly. “Try to remember it, Carmichael. I’d hate to see your beautiful body marred by such violence.”
“I… That’s not…” I cleared my throat. Beautiful body? I shook my head. Not important.
Gideon snorted and disappeared again, leaving me dumbfounded in his wake.
“Damn it.” I glared up at the ceiling. He’d completely misunderstood my gawking.
The man possessed the body of a god. I barely noticed his scars. Actually, no, I did notice them, and I wanted to lick them. Every single damn inch, memorize him with my mouth and tongue, and fuck, I needed to sit down.
I chose the couch.
Which smelled like him.
Because that was where he slept last night.
I fell over on a groan and beat my fist against the pillow he’d clearly used. “Get yourself together, Jillian,” I muttered. “This is ridiculous.”
“And entertaining,” a deep voice replied, startling me upward.
How fast did he get dressed? Oh. He only had on a pair of black pants. Nothing else. Not even a belt, or boxers, so it seemed. A trail of fine hairs traveled quite low over his abdomen. I forced my focus upward and found him gazing down at me with an amused expression.
Flames crept up my neck into my cheeks. I cleared my throat. “I, uh.” Yeah, I had nothing.
“You should be eating,” he suggested.
“That. Yes.”
I hopped up off the couch and nearly ran into his chest. Very tall. Very hot. Very muscular. Very distracting.
He stepped backward out of my way, reminding me of my task.
“I really need coffee,” I said, shaking myself and moving toward the table.
“You certainly need something,” he agreed, his deep voice touching me in all the right places.
He couldn’t possibly have meant that the way it sounded. Right?
I glanced at him, studied his perfectly sculpted ass, and shook my head. Definitely not. He pulled on a tight white shirt—that I immediately wanted him to remove—and then added a light blue button-down. No tie. But gorgeous as sin.
“You’re still not eating,” he commented as he turned toward me.
“Drinking coffee first,” I lied, hurrying to pour some black liquid into my ceramic mug.
He joined me with a smirk. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you seem a little mystified, Carmichael.”
“I’m jet-lagged.” Total bullshit, which his gaze confirmed he knew.
Thankfully, he dropped the subject of my inept behavior. “From reviewing your notes, it sounds like we need to tackle the innovations track and the marketing track. You should take the former for obvious reasons. You did bring two scanners, right?”
I nodded. “They’re in the bedroom.” They were small—about the size of my phone. All we had to do was walk within five feet of Owlburn’s associates with one in our pocket, and the high-level data from their tablets and phones would siphon through the receiving device. It was only meant to scan superficial data, like text messages and unsecured emails, and I programmed it only to alert us if a keyword was discovered. Very straightforward.
He swallowed a bite of his omelet, then guzzled down half his glass of water. That run had clearly left him hungry. “I memorized all the personnel files,” he said before shoveling another forkful of egg into his mouth.
I sipped my coffee—black—while observing him devour half his plate. I’d opted for the yogurt and fruit, preferring something lighter this early in the morning.
“You really read everything,” I said after a few minutes of companionable silence.
“Yes.” He gave me a look. “Was that supposed to be some sort of test?”
“No, I just… I assumed you wouldn’t take my directive.”
“It’s not about directive, Carmichael. It’s about being prepared.” He dabbed his mouth with a napkin and set it aside. “What exactly is your issue with me? Is it that I’m a man? That I prefer to work alone? That my last mission burnt nearly forty percent of my body? What is it? Do I intimidate you?”
I scoffed at that. Understatement of the century. “I don’t…” That wasn’t quite right. I frowned. “There’s not really an issue. I just think we got off on the wrong foot.” Yes. That worked as an explanation.
“Hmm.” He leaned back in his chair and began rolling his sleeves to the elbows. “After we get through registration, I’ll take the marketing track and we’ll regroup before the event tonight to exchange details. Don’t move on anything until we’ve discussed it. Surveillance only, right?”
“The same rules apply to you.”
“Of course,” he agreed. “I’m not field ready yet.” That was said with a note of bitterness, but it didn’t seem to be directed at me so much as himself. “I’ll have my phone on me, if you need me today. You have the number?”
“I do.”
“Good.” He smiled. “Now, was this debriefing as horrible as you expected, Carmichael?”
I narrowed my gaze. “I had no expectations.”
“Could have fooled me on the plane.” He stood. “And with the way you tried to run away this morning. It’s almost as if you’re avoiding me.”
“I’m not.”
His gaze ran over me slowly as I finished my coffee, the table cutting off his view around my belly bu
tton. “Maybe you should.”
I frowned. “Should what?”
His lips curled. “Avoid me.” He turned. “See you tonight, Jillian.”
Chapter Five
Chase
Most. Boring. Conference. Ever. I hit Send on the message to Whiskey and waited for my best friend’s reply.
You only feel that way because they’re talking about agile development methods instead of clandestine ops.
I grinned and typed back, Truth. This was so not my scene, but Whiskey would love it. Jillian, too. They both enjoyed the technical world. I preferred playing with weapons.
“Ugh, I’ve got nothing,” Jillian announced as she entered our suite. “I even checked the scanner to make sure I’d set it properly. I did. It’s just not picking up anything. You?”
I shook my head. “Nada. That tells me our suspect is likely planning to exchange data during the social gatherings this week while everyone is distracted.”
“Really? But his boss will be there.”
“Allowing him to cover his tracks and provide an alibi,” I pointed out. “Perfect cover. And alcohol makes people oblivious.”
She collapsed into the chair across from me with a yawn. “Damn. I’d hoped to have him caught so I could take a nap.”
I chuckled. “Welcome to mission life, sweetheart. You’ll never sleep again.”
Her cheeks flushed a pretty pink at my endearment—an endearment I hadn’t meant to say that sort of slipped out. But I rather liked her reaction to it.
This morning had been eye-opening because I realized that Jillian Carmichael found me attractive. I thought she’d been judging my scars, but when I walked out to find my shirt, I’d felt the warmth in her eyes as she’d studied every inch of my torso—with intrigue, not disgust.
Reading people was my job. And this morning, Jillian had blossomed into an open book right before my eyes.
She might not like me, but she definitely wanted to fuck me.
The feeling was mutual.
Jillian cleared her throat. “Uh, right. So what’s our plan for the evening? Attending the event together? Or splitting up?”
“Did you just ask for my opinion on how to proceed?” I feigned shock. “The almighty Jillian Carmichael needs advice?”
She sighed. “Yeah, all right. I deserve that.”
Now my jaw really did drop.
“Look, you, this”—she waved between us—“isn’t my usual work environment, okay? It’s put me on edge, and yeah, I’ve been kind of a bitch.”
“Wow, you must be really tired to admit all that,” I marveled.
She narrowed her gaze. “I’m trying to apologize, jackass. Don’t ruin it.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
Her eyes told me she saw right through my sarcasm. “Did you even talk to the manager today about our room mishap?”
My lips twitched. “No.”
“Why not?” she asked, sounding more tired than annoyed.
“Because I forgot.” Complete bullshit. I didn’t bother the manager for two reasons—I knew the hotel couldn’t fix whatever Whiskey had done to our reservation, and I didn’t want to change rooms.
“Uh-huh.” She blew out a breath and rolled her head back to stare at the ceiling. “Well, I hope you like sleeping on the couch.”
“We’ll see,” I murmured, amused.
She sat up straight, her cheeks a dark crimson. “What?”
“For tonight, I suggest we mingle together and try to make rounds through the parties. It’s a themed evening, right?” Something about superheroes.
“Don’t change the subject.”
I smiled. “Is there something else you’d rather discuss instead of work? If yes, I’m all ears, Carmichael.”
Her lips flattened, an adorable growl purring in her throat. Who knew playing with her could be fun? We’d spent the last few months politely tiptoeing around each other, an odd discomfort between us from that first day. Yesterday had morphed us into enemy territory, and this morning, into something brand new. Something I could enjoy.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart? I thought you wanted to talk about our plans for tonight.”
“Stop calling me that.”
“Why? Do you prefer ‘Carmichael’? Agent? Jillian? Darling?”
Her expression darkened, her green eyes glittering. Mmm, now that would be a fun look to exploit in the bedroom. And I wondered what other parts of her turned red when in the midst of passion, because her entire face and neck were blushed crimson from her frustration.
“Since you can’t seem to behave like an adult, I think we should separate for the evening.” She pushed away from the table, standing. “I’m going to change.”
I watched her hips sway as she walked, and called, “Jillian?”
“What?” she demanded, shooting a glare at me over her shoulder.
“Trust me when I say, everything in my head right now? Is very much adult.”
Her lips parted, more of that color flooding her features as she practically ran into her room, slamming the door behind her.
I chuckled.
Yeah, tonight would be fun.
Just had to find something suitable to wear to the party.
And we were back to playing the silent game. Last night, it pissed me off. Tonight, it just entertained me. Because I’d finally figured out Miss Jillian Carmichael’s tick.
She went quiet when flustered.
Like now.
I handed her a drink, one she took without a word. “Most people at least say Thank you when someone is kind enough to procure alcohol for another,” I advised her, my lips near her ear. “What’s wrong, Jill? Been a while since your last date?”
She stiffened. “This is not a date.”
“Yet,” I added, winking.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” she demanded, spinning to face me. It caused the blue skirt around her thighs to flare, drawing my attention to her exposed legs. She’d chosen a female heroine costume, one that obviously had been designed more for male admirers than for practicality.
Not that I minded.
It certainly suited the theme party better than my black slacks and matching button-down did. I’d paired the look with glasses, claiming to be a superhero in disguise.
“You know what?” She took a step back and spun on her heel with a “We’re splitting up now” tossed over her shoulder.
I grabbed her arm, pulling her back toward me, her back to my front. “Are you forgetting something?” I asked softly, my mouth brushing the shell of her ear again.
She shivered, her grip tightening around her drink, causing the plastic cup to crinkle over the soft music. “W-what?”
My lips curled. “You don’t have your phone.” It was a euphemism for the scanner, which she couldn’t carry tonight due to her lack of pockets. The sexy little costume was practically molded to her curves, thereby refuting her original idea of separating for the night. She had to stay nearby as a result.
Normally, I’d chastise an agent for being so ill-prepared—she should have worn an outfit more mission-appropriate. But she did fit in with the crowd, as most of the women had gone all out with their superhero cosplay.
I drew my fingers down her arm, memorizing the silky texture of her skin. “You’re stuck with me,” I murmured. “Now, drink your amaretto sour and pretend to be having a good time. We don’t want to draw attention to ourselves.”
Releasing her, I turned to brace my elbows on the balcony ledge, surveying the first floor of the room. There were three bars—with a fourth situated behind us on the balcony level—one mostly vacant dance floor, and a lot of high top tables without chairs. Everyone was mingling, drinking, and chatting.
Whoever decorated the room had done a solid job. Projected images of comic book characters littered the walls, all the staff were dressed up accordingly, and the tunes playing overhead were recognizably from the most recent superhero movie trend. Not bad.
Jillian finally
relaxed beside me, joining me in my perusal while ignoring the drink in her hand. The cheap presentation of the beverage belied the cost of it. Plastic cups were for beers, not cocktails. Typical hotel upcharge.
“There’s Richard,” she said softly, gesturing with her chin toward the suit-clad CEO of Owlburn Industries. He was one of those men who moved with purpose, owning the room with each step. His broad shoulders, chiseled jaw, thick black hair, and air of confidence caused quite a few female heads to swivel in his direction. He flashed an easy smile at the bartender below, causing me to snort.
I’d spent the last decade around his type—rich asshole.
“Have you met him in person?” I wondered out loud.
She shook her head. “No, only on the phone. Why?”
“I was going to ask if he hit on you.” Not because I cared, but because I wanted my suspicion on his personality proven. “Seems the flirtatious sort who enjoys mingling business with pleasure.” As he proved by drawing his finger over the wrist of the bartender as she handed him a menu he likely didn’t need. Suave, if a little obvious. Pompous, too.
“I’m not sure how to reply to that,” Jillian said, her mouth curling down at the edges. “Are you suggesting I’d allow it? That I’d actually sleep with a client? Because if that’s the case, then—”
I pressed my mouth to hers, silencing her. She’d grown louder with each word, causing heads to swivel in our direction. The last thing we needed was to draw attention to ourselves on a surveillance mission. We needed everyone to look right through us, forget we were ever here. That was the primary purpose of our jobs—to remain unseen.
Of course, kissing her derailed that idea. Most Americans were averse to displays of affection in public, always blushing and glancing away. But they remembered the act.
So I kept it short and sweet, shocking her into being quiet while not deepening it to a point where others would be intrigued. Her pupils flared as I gazed down at her, one hand cupping her cheek while my other still held my drink.